


Warning: Splash Zone

by doorwaytoparadise



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, NSFW Art, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pool Sex, Poolboy Crowley, Roleplay, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), flirty redhead takes it deep in the shallow end, probably improper pool safety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:41:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29888859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doorwaytoparadise/pseuds/doorwaytoparadise
Summary: Poolboy Crowley gets a little bonus pay from rich homeowner Mr. Fell, if you know what I mean.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 39
Kudos: 179
Collections: Ineffablexxx - Directors Cut, Top Aziraphale Recs





	Warning: Splash Zone

**Author's Note:**

> I had a poolboy AU I had started and abandoned ages ago, and the cheesy porn trop fic trend was exactly what I needed to finish it! Thanks to elizabethelizabeth for the beta read and NaroMoreau for the enthusiasm that pushed me into getting this written <3

The sun is starting to dip in the sky, edging into sunset, as the light turns towards a golden hue. Crowley hums cheerfully as he circles the swimming pool, sunglasses perched on his face and dressed only in a pair of tight black shorts trimmed in red. There’s a long net in his hands, which he’s using to clean the pool, glaring at the leaves that have dared to drop into the water. He skims the surface with the net, though he’s hardly doing more than shifting the little bit of debris around, with other thoughts on his mind. The pool is otherwise immaculately clean; carefully maintained, non-chlorinated, and colorfully decorated with tile around the edges.

Crowley casts his gaze upwards, eyeing the sun’s position and considering the time, when the sound of a door opening comes from behind him. Without looking, he grins to himself. That’ll be the owner of the house, Mr. Fell. Rich, handsome, terribly charming, and luckily for Crowley, as interested in the poolboy as the poolboy is him. The man would be coming to check on Crowley, likely with an offering of refreshment, but Crowley was hoping this time he’d get more than a glass of juice out of it. He’d very purposefully chosen the shorts he was clad in, for the tightness and how little they actually covered, and if he played his cards right, he’d be getting a bonus for this particular day’s job.

Crowley hears Fell making his way to the pool, steps confident and casual, and he keeps sweeping the pool in feigned nonchalance. He’s on the far side of the pool, by the deep end, and he tamps down on his eagerness, lest he spoils the game too soon. There’s the sound of glassware being put down by the deck furniture, confirming Crowley’s suspicions of refreshments on offer, before Fell’s steps circle around towards him. He turns as breezily as he can, ready to play innocent, but he stops short as soon as Fell is in his sights. The man is dressed in a sheer white robe, trimmed in gold, and absolutely nothing else, the partially see-through fabric barely covering his modesty.

Abruptly, he drops the net, stumbles, and falls right into the pool.

(‘ _Holy shit_ ’, Crowley thinks as he hits the water. ‘ _Angel, what the fuck_.’ 

Because Aziraphale had most certainly not mentioned that _that_ would be what he was wearing when they had planned this, and wasn’t that just typical?)

Crowley surfaces sputtering, wiping water out of his eyes, only to find Mr. Fell carefully descending the steps across the way. He’s moving casually, in no rush, movement given an extra grace as he descends into the water, ends of the robe billowing around him enough that Crowley can see very well that there’s nothing underneath. Fell looks like he’s stepping out of some grand cinematic scene, the dying light making a halo of his curls, reflecting off the water and giving the whole scene a hazy sort of surreal feel to it. 

(If Crowley weren’t so distracted by Aziraphale’s state of undress, he’d snort at the sheer drama of it all. Aziraphale always did enjoy theatrics.)

The shallow end only submerges Fell to around waist height, but he sinks further down, settles himself at the edge, leaning back and letting his arms stretch out to the sides, resting on the deck in a fair approximation of Crowley's typical sprawl. He tilts his head, smirking at Crowley, something sharp and focused and hungry that’s at odds with the lazy pose he’s dropped into. There’s miles of Fell’s bare skin half hidden by the water, there’s Fell’s bright ocean eyes honed in on Crowley like a lioness on the hunt, and there’s Fell, tilting his chin to expose his neck, and languidly lifting one hand to beckon him. 

‘ _Fuck._ ’ Crowley thinks, and surges forward.

Crowley cuts through the water like the snake he is, finding leverage as the bottom of the pool becomes close enough to touch. With one final kick, he’s in front of Fell, and he reaches out to grab at the tiled edge, brackets Fell between his arms while also halting his momentum. The water surges forward in his wake, splashing up and sending droplets across Fell’s face and shoulders. Fell smiles, a tint of bastard at the corners, peers coyly up at him through his lashes and Crowley tracks the trails the water leaves as it slides down Fell’s skin, thinking how much he wants to lick them. 

“Crowley,” Fell says, dragging Crowley’s gaze back to his face. “You look like you needed a break.”

He says it in a cheerful way that makes his appearance seem entirely coincidental, like he didn’t clearly plan all this, like making Crowley fall in the pool didn’t make his day.

“Oh yeah?” Crowley mutters defensively, not quite willing to give in just yet.

“Mmm, I’d say you’re looking a bit thirsty.”

The residual movement of the water nudges them closer, and Crowley inhales deeply as Fell presses up against him. With nothing between them but Crowley’s own shorts, it’s very obvious that they’re both more than aroused over the proceedings, and Crowley grinds down just a little, seeking friction. One of Fell’s hands drops into the water, curls around Crowley’s hip, and tugs him so they’re flush against each other and it’s sparklers up his spine, champagne on his tongue. 

“Care to do something about that, then?” Crowley asks, voice straining at the edges.

Fell smiles. Crowley arches his back, feels one of Fell’s thighs slot between his legs, and ruts against it. He groans and tilts his head back, and Fell takes the opportunity presented to lean forward and nip at the exposed skin. He drags his teeth down Crowley’s neck, sucks a bruise where it meets his shoulder, and soothes it with his tongue. Crowley sinks his hand into Fell’s hair, tugging at the damp curls beseechingly, and Fell _growls_ in response, a low and wanting sound into the hollow of Crowley’s throat, that travels straight to his cock. 

(Idly, Crowley thinks sod their plan to do it poolside, he’s not leaving the water until he gets fucked.)

Fell presses his back against the wall, shifts to get a better hold on Crowley, and brings his other hand to cup the back of his neck and pull him down into a searing kiss. Crowley goes so willingly they practically crash together, storm waves on the shore. Fell parts his lips, and Crowley is quick to dart his tongue inside, exploring, laying claim, and Fell hums happily into it. Crowley draws back, invites Fell to reciprocate, and he immediately follows through, eagerly making a map behind Crowley’s teeth. The water around them is starting to churn a little, pushed and pulled by their frenzied need, and it splashes in jolting cold waves, something grounding to Crowley’s senses as his mind goes fuzzy from Fell’s mouth on his. 

They break apart for air, panting warm puffs of breath between them, and Fell's face is flushed red as an apple. Crowley desperately wants to bite down. He wants to kiss and touch and lose himself here, warm and wet and wanted, with pleasure unfurling in increments. Fell tilts his head back, exposing his throat, and rivulets of water trail down to his pulse point. Crowley chases them with his mouth, draws a moan out of Fell as he sucks and nips his way over the skin there. The water sloshes loudly as Crowley shifts, wraps his legs around Fell's waist, drags his hands through the sodden curls, and reclaims his mouth.

With Crowley’s legs now anchoring him, Fell’s hands move under Crowley’s arse, getting a firm grip and kneading just enough to make Crowley whine into Fell's mouth. He feels the smile that causes, wants to huff in indignation, but Fell uses his grip to slot their hips together and grind up against Crowley. The noise that Crowley makes is something half-strangled, high and needy. Crowley chases the pleasure, the electric sparks that jump up his spine as the closeness and the movement make his blood sing. He angles his hips, finds just the right friction, and rolls his pelvis in a way that has both of them gasping. 

Crowley cups Fell’s jaw, lightly pulls until Fell lifts his head to look at him, and strokes his thumbs over the soft skin there; savors how Fell leans into it. Crowley takes a breath. 

“Please fuck me.”

Fell’s eyebrows lift in amusement.

“Just like this?”

“Yes. Right now, right here, if you could.”

“Patience is a virtue, darling.”

“You call this virtuous?”

Fell laughs and the water ripples around them. His hands are still on Crowley’s arse, and he slides one down to press a finger at Crowley’s entrance. The touch is teasing at first, circling his rim, just enough pressure to make Crowley whine, before Fell mercifully pushes inside. 

(His hand is slick, miraculously so. _Cheater_ , Crowley thinks, ignoring that he’s the one who wanted to stay in the water, necessitating the need for a miracle in the first place.)

Fell is in no hurry, leisurely working Crowley open, and Crowley keens and groans, hands gripping at Fell’s shoulders, trying to wordlessly urge him to quicken his pace. Perhaps getting the hint, Fell adds a second finger and it's better but still not enough. The stretch is perfectly intoxicating, and Crowley wiggles his hips, tries to fuck himself further on Fell’s hand and Fell grips him tighter, slides in a third finger and fuck, but he _slows_ his pace, and Crowley moans loudly, begs with the arching of his back. 

“Fell, I swear to _Someone_ -,” 

Crowley growls, and it comes out far more pleading than he intended. Fell slides his fingers out and Crowley makes a disappointed noise at the sudden emptiness, but Fell only shifts so he has one arm around Crowley’s waist, and he lines them up together.

“I guess you’re ready for me.” And there’s something like laughter in Fell’s voice, but it's kinder and more giving. 

“I was ready yesterday-” Crowley snaps, but whatever else he might have said is cut off as Fell’s cock pushes inside him. 

Crowley’s mouth drops open wordlessly, unable to do more than simply take it, to languish in the feeling of Fell slowly bottoming out. Crowley takes him to the hilt, can barely clench around him for how big he is, and he’s so deliciously full, he thinks he could exist here forever. Then Fell starts to move and Crowley stops thinking altogether.

The thrusts are careful at first, far more gentle than Crowley wants, but Fell finds a rhythm and sets a quicker pace that makes Crowley throw his head back and cry out, not caring how loud he is. The air is punctuated by half punched out syllables, _ha, ah, ah, fu-, yes-!_ , as pleasure builds higher and higher, curling hot and heavy in Crowley’s gut. Fell grunts, his hands finding a firm grip on Crowley’s hips, hard enough to leave bruises and Crowley looks forward to admiring them in the morning. 

Fell pulls almost all the way out before slamming back into Crowley and he hits at just the right angle to make Crowley see stars. The cool water churns roughly around them, a clear contrast to the heat of their bodies, and the distinctly opposing temperatures only heighten every sensation. With Fell’s cock inside him, stretching, splitting, Crowley feels his climax swiftly drawing close with every stroke over his prostate. He moves to reach for his neglected cock, hard and aching between the press of their bodies, but Fell doesn’t let him, cants his hips in a way that makes Crowley wail. 

“You can come just like this, can’t you?”

“I-,” Crowley pants. “I-”

Fell grabs Crowley by the chin, tilts his head so their eyes meet. There is a banked fire in Fell’s ocean eyes, echoes of stormclouds and strength, glazed with lust and piercing Crowley to his core. His thrusts are more erratic now, his own climax close, as he stares openly with desire, hunger, command; a predator about to strike the final blow.

“Why don’t you be a _good boy_ and come for me?”

The words hit like a freight train and Crowley’s whole body shakes with his orgasm. He flails out, one hand hitting the deck and bracing against the solid concrete, the other latching onto Fell’s shoulder, nails digging into the skin, anchoring him down lest he go spinning into black space from how much he feels like he’s flying. His climax crests over him in waves, and he’s only just remembering where his corporeal form is when Fell thrusts once, twice, and is spilling hot and deep inside him. 

=

=

There’s a sharp splash, a slight drop into the water and they both nearly go under before Aziraphale steadies them. Aziraphale presses his face to Crowley's sternum, raises goosebumps with his breath. Both their pulses are pounding. 

Eventually they calm, the high of climax ebbing into something relaxed and warm and soft. Aziraphale makes a satisfied noise as he presses a light kiss to Crowley’s chest.

“Was that alright, my dear?”

“Was that- aphfft,” Crowley sputtered. “Aziraphale, I came so hard, I think my ears are still ringing. I’d call that more than alright.”

Aziraphale’s eyes crinkle as he smiles besottedly at Crowley.

“Well as long as you enjoyed it, love.”

Crowley lets out a string of loose letters and grumbles under his breath. Trust Aziraphale to be this disgustingly sweet after fucking him like that. However, they’re still submerged in the pool, and the cool water is starting to become uncomfortable. Crowley catches Aziraphale’s eye, cuts his gaze to the steps leading out of the pool meaningfully, and Aziraphale follows his gaze, looking thoughtful for a second. Then he grins. It's a small thing, mischievous at the corners, and Crowley briefly wonders if he should be worried before he’s suddenly very much not thinking at all. Aziraphale shifts them both around, braces his arm on the deck - palm flat to the ground, elbow bent and shoulder tense - then he hunkers down and pushes. In one smooth motion, Aziraphale levers them both entirely out of the water with one arm, sitting himself on the deck with Crowley still wrapped around him. Crowley gapes. Aziraphale, his other hand still under Crowley’s arse, makes a smug little sound in his ear. If Crowley weren’t so wrung out already, he’d be incredibly turned on. 

“Show off,” he mutters into Aziraphale’s hair.

Aziraphale only radiates an aura of self-satisfaction, as he fully pulls himself up to standing, still cradling Crowley. He strides around the pool, over to the pair of deck chairs they had intended to fuck on, but the best-laid plans of mice and Crowley. The tray Aziraphale had brought out earlier, holding a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses, still waits dutifully and perfectly chilled. 

Crowley doesn’t protest when Aziraphale pushes a full glass into his hands, nor when he starts toweling Crowley off, and he barely twitches when he feels the miracle that cleans him up. The post-orgasmic haze has him feeling heavy and slow in the best way, and he leans into Aziraphale’s warmth. He downs most of the contents of his glass in one gulp, finishes the rest in another, and sets the glass down just in time for Aziraphale to bring the towel up to his hair and ruffle it swiftly over the damp strands. He sighs as Aziraphale finishes, draws him close and they curl together on the deck chair. The sun is now dipping below the horizon line, pinks and reds and golds streaking over the sky, but the air is still warm and they’re in no hurry to move. 

Above Crowley’s head, Aziraphale makes a thoughtful noise.

“Hmm?” 

“The pool is definitely going to need a good cleaning now,” Aziraphale observes amusedly.

With a roll of his eyes, Crowley snaps his fingers.


End file.
